In the drive up Interstate 15 to Salt Lake City which took all night and
part of the morning, Jack thought about how it was not one of his favorite
places. He had been there twice before. Getting information was often like
pulling teeth. One of the strangest places he had ever been; like a totally
different planet. His past experiences, however, did prompt him to become
familiar with Mormonism and the lives of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young,
among others.

Jack's first
stop was the Salt Lake City Police Department. He had asked Sam Hanson
to call ahead and alert them of his pending arrival.

Sandra Burton
was the chief's secretary and she immediately recognized Jack by name
and reputation. "You are rather famous around here, Mr. Davis. Everybody
talks about you. The chief is not in, but please talk to the administrative
sergeant, Dave Webb. He knows everything that is happening, and he is
expecting you." She rang his office and Jack was immediately ushered
in.

"My
pleasure, Jack. Sam Hanson called and filled me in on what you are looking
for. Here is a copy of everything in our file." Webb continued, "Let
me summarize what we know which is not much. Alicia Dunn is age 27, a
redhead, 5'7", 125 pounds. Very, very attractive she is. Wife number
three of one James Dunn. Right, number three. James Dunn is a polygamist
and one of the main spiritual leaders of the Latter-day Church of Christ.
The church is actually a conglomerate that owns 27 companies at last count.
Many of these companies are involved in computer hardware or software
merchandising or providing internet services. The headquarters is just
south of the city. Mr. Dunn did report his wife missing but he has not
been a wealth of information. He has his own private investigator, Steve
Hawkins, working on the case."

The moment
Jack heard Hawkins' name he knew where he would find what he wanted to
know. "OK, Dan, thanks," Jack interrupted abruptly. "Let
me look over the file and I'll get back to you."

Jack called
Steve Hawkins and they agreed to meet at a nearby restaurant. He knew
"Hawk" as by reputation only. Not a good reputation. Hawk was
rumored to be an enforcer on occasion for various elements of organized
crime. Now what was he doing working for a religious zealot and polygamist
Jack wondered.

Hawkins was
already in the restaurant and was seated at a small table and toying with
a chef salad. He barely acknowledged Jack as he motioned for him to sit
down.

"You,
you're the one who got him busted, right?" Hawkins snarled. Fabrizio
was currently on death row in a federal prison, convicted on kidnapping,
rape and murder charges. Jack had discovered the body and led the Chicago
police to Vince the Vicar of Vice as he was known. The victim was Fabrizio's
former mistress. Her father had hired Jack to find her. Hawkins had once
served a stint as a bodyguard for the Vicar of Vice several years before
the murder of the mistress.

"Well,
your old boss did have his former girlfriend's breasts cut off and legs
broken before they ended her young life. Just because she no longer wanted
to screw Vince. Nice guys."

"You
killed one of Vince's men as I recall," Hawk commented. "Louie
the Liar. They called him that because he had been indicted numerous times
for hits but they never could pin him down. Witnesses disappeared. How
did you stiff him exactly? I don't remember that story ever being completely
reported."

"He
caught me doing coke on the job. What the fuck do you expect with all
the crazy shit those greaseballs were into? I couldn't get any jobs with
the mob after that."

"I'll
tell you what I know, then you tell me what you know," Jack said
in a tone that could only be described as menacing. He told many of the
relevant details pertinent to the disappearance of Laurie Johnston but
only what was in the police report. He did not tell what he had subsequently
learned and did not mention Danel. He did refer to the other similar cases
he was about to investigate and added that he would bet big money there
were more that had not yet been reported.

Hawkins looked
puzzled as he began to speak. "I thought she just ran off. She was
very unhappy the way I hear it and totally disillusioned with this polygamy
business and her husband's church activities. I can't find any trail leading
to where she might be. She was last seen standing in front of the Joseph
Smith Memorial Building, the former Old Utah Hotel, two weeks ago. A man
was with her when she was last seen."

"Tell
me about the man, the biker," Jack interrupted. Hawkins looked almost
shocked. "And the biker was tall, muscular and rode an expensive
Harley, right?"

"Well,
yeah. I didn't think the police had that information."

"They
don't. Tell me everything you know about him. But start with the Harley,"
Jack demanded.

"OK,
OK, I get it. Quite a detailed description and quite a machine,"
Jack interjected.

"Yeah,
well I got that information from the guy who sold it to the two bikers,
who apparently could have passed for twins, just a week before Alicia
Dunn disappeared. The one who purchased that Harley was named Danel Jones.
The one who rode off on it was named Ezequeel. The same Ezequeel who was
seen with the Dunn woman on at least five occasions, including that last
day in front of the Smith Building. She was also seen on that Harley with
this Ezequeel on two occasions."

Jack had
almost had enough. "Is there anything about this entire episode you
found very unusual?"

"One
thing. The husband let me search her room. They had separate bedrooms.
I guess you have to when you have three wives," and Hawkins guffawed
at his own joke. Jack didn't break a smile. He did not like this guy.

Hawkins continued,
"I found some strange books in her room. Mr. Dunn was present while
I was looking through her things and he was astounded that she was reading
such literature, which he called pornography. The names of the books,"
he paused and referred to his notebook, "were Aranga-Ranga, The Book
of the Thousand Nights and a Night and The Perfumed Garden of Sheik Nefzauoi.
All published by a guy named Sir Richard Francis Burton."

"Thanks.
I will let you know if I find out anything about the whereabouts of Alicia
Dunn." With that Jack got up and walked out, having found out what
he wanted to know. He didn't feel Hawkins could be of much further help.

Jack got
in his Mercedes and headed toward Denver. He decided to take Interstate
80 because he wanted to stop briefly in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and visit an
old friend, Samantha Aikens. He had helped her out of a jam when she was
a dancer in Vegas and got her off cocaine.

Samantha's
mother Irene had answered the phone when he called. Her mother, Irene,
Jack reminisced fondly. The one who hired him to go get Samantha out of
the sewer. A grand lady and she paid him grandly for services rendered.
Irene insisted that Jack stay for a few days and spend Thanksgiving with
her and her family and friends. And her daughter, Samantha, of course.
Irene actually encouraged their relationship and wished it was more than
it was.

Jack and
Samantha got together three or four times a year, whenever he was in the
neighborhood. Samantha was thirty-six but still, no not still, Jack thought,
even more beautiful than when she danced in Vegas. She had an eighteen
year old son Jason who was born before she left for her showgirl career.
She left Jason with Irene in Cheyenne for several years.

About thirty
people came and went over the course of Thanksgiving day. One interesting
character who struck up a conversation with Jack was an elderly Native
American named Charley Red Cloud. He filled Jack's head with all sorts
of nonsensical stories, but Jack found it incredibly entertaining. Usually
he was not one for crowded rooms and chit-chat but this old codger had
him laughing so hard he was choking on his tongue. And
Irene and Charley kept up a constant battle of wits and verbal insults
directed at each other. It was hilarious. Jack wondered if Irene was involved
intimately with Charley. They seemed so right for each other in a very
strange way.

Although
Charley was thought to be mostly Shoshoni and was born on the Wind River
Reservation, he claimed to be a descendant of Makhpiya-Luta, better known
as Chief Red Cloud. Charley told the story of Chief Red Cloud's victories
over the U.S. Army that eventually resulted in the Fort Laramie Treaty
in 1868.

"All
that of course went down the toilet when Custer began the Black Hills
expedition in 1874," Charley explained. "Red Cloud refused to
join Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse in the Lakota War several years later.
He knew they would eventually be defeated and humiliated. Red Cloud chose
to match wits with the white eyes in other ways."

Then Charley
went into his annual Thanksgiving spiel. Irene spoke up sternly, "I
wish you would just shut up, Charley. You have told this story every Thanksgiving
for the past five years and it is getting a little old." But she
let him tell it anyway.

"Thanksgiving
has been a lie for 362 years. It was murder. In Connecticut in 1637 the
colonial militia surrounded a Pequot village and attacked just before
dawn. More than 700 Pequot including the women and children were slaughtered.
The militia celebrated with great joy after this massacre and convinced
Governor Bradford to declare by law this deplorable incident a day of
celebration and thanksgiving. The story of the Thanksgiving dinner in
1621 with the Pilgrims is hogwash. Never happened."

Jack was
totally speechless when Charley finished. Everybody else in ear shot was
chuckling which made Charley even more agitated. He threw up his hands
in the air as if to say the hell with you all. He pulled Jack aside.

"Jack,
these white eyes are fools. You, I believe, must have some Native American
blood. You probably don't even know it. I believe we are blood brothers.
I want to share a secret with you. These others would think me just a
rambling old fool."

Charley Red
Cloud told Jack the legend of the Sasquatch and he listened patiently
and attentively for an hour. Charley described several encounters he
had himself with Sasquatch. Jack was spellbound. He also recalled vividly
that the waiter at the casino restaurant had told him Lilith and the late
Dr. Masterson spoke of Sasquatch.

Charley talked
on and on and on. Jack had eaten too much and kept dozing off a few minutes
at a time. Finally Samantha rousted Jack and delivered him from Charley
with, "Jack, let's head out to the cabin."

The log cabin
was built by her great-great grandfather just outside the northeastern
border of the Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest near Elk Mountain. Irene
had considered selling it after the death of her husband but Samantha
talked her out of it. It was a great place to get away, and to bring her
lovers out of the sight of her mother and her son. Jack especially liked
the solitude and quiet of the place.

The cabin
was about a two hour drive from Cheyenne. They decided to take Samantha's
Isuzu Hombre 4wd Spacecab for obvious reasons. Depending how close they
might decide to venture into the forest, the weather might be quite several.
Due to blowdown some roads within the forest were nigh impassable. Jack
took his large bag out of the truck of the Mercedes and put it in the
back of the truck. Not only was he anxious to be alone with Samantha and
her unusual sexual fantasies, he knew he would soon have the opportunity
to test fire what was in the bag, his new weapons.

Jack opened
the bag and admired the Ruger Super Redhawk .44 magnum revolver. He picked
it up. It weighed three pounds and the barrel was 7 1/2 inches long. Samantha
liked to shoot but he doubted she could handle this baby. He then picked
up the Ruger KP97D pistol. It weighed about half as much as the revolver
and was much better suited for Samantha. The idea crossed Jack's mind
that he just might give it to her for Christmas if she liked it. He planned
to return in a month at the invitation of both Samantha and her mother
Irene. Jack knew he would never give up his Glock 27 mini-pistol for the
Ruger. He had taken to wearing cargo khakis and the Glock fit just perfect
in the lower right pocket on his hip and Jack could get to it very quickly.
There was also a Ruger KRLP-1236 12 guage shotgun in the bag. Jack had
disassembled the barrel to fit the gun in the bag.

As they drove
to the cabin and Samantha napped, Jack recalled how he came to acquire
his new Ruger toys. Billy "The Kid" Westbrook had given the
three Rugers to Jack as a token of his gratitude. Jack would not accept
money from Billy but he did take the guns only because "The Kid"
would not take no for an answer.

Billy was
a gun dealer who lived just north of Bonner's Ferry, Idaho, not far from
the Canadian border. A close friend of Jack's from the war days and a
paraplegic who had lost both legs above the knees in a land mine explosion.
Not that he ever let that get him down. "The Kid" had a beautiful
wife and three great kids. He also had a big van especially equipped with
hand controls and on both sides of the vehicle he had boldly stenciled,
"Billy the Kid. Gun Dealer Extraordinaire. Antique Firearms and War
Memorabilia." Billy and his van were on their way to the Las Vegas
Gun Show at Cashman Field scheduled for September 4th and 5th. The event
was run by Claude Hall, another old friend, and Billy was Claude's favorite
vendor because of all the great stuff he brought and the attention he
drew. "The Kid" had hundreds of entertaining and funny stories
and he was the star attraction for the entire two days. Of course, his
Purple Heart, Bronze Star, pictures with several generals and one president,
not to mention his wheelchair, just added to the legend.

Whenever
Billy made the trek to Las Vegas every couple months for a gun show he
always stopped for the night at a motel halfway there just off Interstate
84 in Twin Falls, Idaho, not too far from the Nevada border. The owner
of the motel, Freddy, and Billy had become fast friends over the years.
Freddy usually had a substantial gun order for Billy upon his arrival
and they would sit around reminiscing and sipping Southern Comfort for
hours. Freddy would always make sure his friend's favorite room was available
and he would push the bed up against the window so Billy could push open
the curtain and look out the window getting out of bed which took him
about ten minutes to do.

Jack snickered
and thought about how damn lucky the two guys who stole Billy's guns didn't
try to rob him and instead broke into his van. "The Kid" could
outshoot anybody Jack ever met and had a piece of one sort or another
just about everywhere you could think of. The only thing Billy couldn't
do was move very fast or easily get around, as in, walk into a crowded
bar looking for somebody or run after a bad actor. Although Jack admitted,
Billy could make that wheelchair roll pretty fast when he wanted to and
he drove that van like a bat out of hell. The only thing that surprised
Jack was that it wasn't painted camouflage and didn't have a .50 caliber
machine gun turret mounted on the roof.

As soon as
the alarm sounded in his van, Billy looked out the window and saw the
two men quite clearly. He saw their white Toyota Tacoma pickup and he
saw the Washington state license plate although he couldn't make out the
number. The men were scared off by the alarm and just took two crates
of guns out of the back of the van before they fled. What they took was
Billy's favorite guns and not ones they could readily sell. They took
the ones he just showed off and would never sell. But how would they know
without looking inside the crates. They took the French Model 1822 Service
Pistol, the Civil War Lemat Percussion Revolver, the British Flintlock
Sea Pistol, and the Silver Mounted Queen Anne Pistol and the Blunderbus
with the spring bayonet.

The police
arrived within fifteen minutes but Billy did not tell them what all he
had seen. What he wanted was what to him were his priceless guns back
and not a lengthy investigation, a bureaucratic nightmare and his possessions
to be held as evidence indefinitely. He called Jack immediately because
he knew he was in Las Vegas because they had planned to meet at the gun
show.

It took Jack
less than a day to track down the two men in the Toyota and the guns.
Sure enough, they headed right up Interstate 84 toward Seattle just like
he figured. He found them in a bar on the outskirts of Pendleton, Oregon.
In a brief ten minute conversation he convinced them to haul ass to Las
Vegas and return the guns to Billy who could be found at Cashman Field.
They didn't seem like bad guys to Jack, just stupid. Of course he looked
at their identification and made a phone call to verify that they had
never been in any real trouble with the law like they told him. Billy
"The Kid" had his guns back before the show even began and demanded
Jack pick out what he would like from his amply stocked Ruger inventory.
What really amused Jack was that these two guys were with Billy at his
table helping him when Jack showed up. He could only imagine the lecture
these two had endured. Much more conducive to rehabilitation than the
slammer and of that Jack was certain.

Samantha
began to stir and wake from her nap. Jack thought about how fond he was
of her. And her mother. And her son. It wasn't anything like love, at
least on his part, but she was a true friend and a great sexual playmate.
They both understood their relationship for what it was. Although Samantha
had never been married, she was once engaged and very close to the wedding
date when her husband-to-be, Richard, committed suicide. A very tragic
story but it had nothing much to do with Samantha. Richard had embezzled
hundreds of thousands of dollars from his employer and was found out and
about to be arrested when he decided he didn't want to face the music.

The fantasy
Samantha always liked to play with Jack was that she was a virgin bride.
She would put on the wedding dress she never got to wear for real and
the evening would progress from there. Each time he played the Newlywed
Game with Samantha there would be slight variations but the eventual outcome
was the same. After the wedding night they would pretend they were on
their honeymoon. Jack somehow never tired of Samantha's fantasy and looked
forward to being married again, although he had never actually been married.
And he thought it very humorous indeed how convincingly Samantha, a former
Las Vegas dancer, could play a virginal young bride. She definitely should
have been an actress he thought.

Three days
later Jack arrived in Denver. This time the missing woman was the youngest
sister of a Roman Catholic priest. Jack had the police report faxed to
him while he was being entertained by Samantha in Cheyenne. He also called
the priest, Father John Murphy, from there and made an appointment to
meet at his church, Saint Peter's Cathedral.

Father Murray
was very distraught and somewhat incoherent as he talked about the disappearance
of his sister, Kathleen. Jack already knew from the police report she
was 23, a graduate student at the University of Denver, 5'5" tall,
115 pounds, long blonde hair and quite a knockout as evidenced by the
picture that came with the police report.

"Father,
I have much of the information the police have. Now, if you want to help
find Kathleen, tell me something new. Tell me something you didn't tell
the police. Why do you think she disappeared?"

"I heard
her confession. Which might seem very strange but that is just the way
it was, right or wrong. We had a special relationship and had no secrets.
Before I became a priest, we ... " Father Murray paused and looked
pensive and embarrassed.

"Kathleen
and I had an incestuous relationship for several years when she was a
young teenager and before I became a priest. I tell you this only to emphasize
our, our ..."

"OK,
I get it Father. I don't judge and I've heard just about every story you
can possible imagine. Now, what exactly did Kathleen confess?"

She was having
a tempestuous fling with a new man in her life. Kathleen had been with
him just a week before she disappeared and I could only describe it as
total infatuation on her part. He was called Sariel, quite an unusual
name but I have heard it somewhere before, he was very tall and according
to her incredibly handsome. He rode a motorcycle. Kathleen has always
had boyfriends and lovers, but it was obvious this was quite different.
She talked about him as if he were some sort of god. Even read the bible
to her. On the other hand, she said he also read erotic literature to
her. I don't recall the names of the books offhand. Not something I am
very familiar with."

"Was
one of the titles The Perfumed Garden of Sheik Nefzaoui
published by Sir Francis Burton?"

"Yes,
that's it! I remember that."

The priest
paused momentarily as he contemplated about what he was going to say next.
"One more thing I should tell you, Mr. Davis. I was indicted a few
months back along with a small group of other priests located all over
the world for distributing pornography over the internet. The Church has
taken an 'innocent until proven guilty' position."

"Father,
you have helped considerably just in this brief conversation. I'll call
you if I think of anything else and you do likewise. I promise you I will
let you know immediately if I find out anything about Kathleen's disappearance.
I do believe this is related to several similar cases I am working on.
There is absolutely no evidence that these women have been harmed so keep
your hopes up."

The third
seemingly related incident involving a missing woman that Jack had found
on the Missing Person Index occurred in Albuquerque. He headed down Interstate
25. Best direction anyway because he figured whatever happened next was
likely to occur in a southwestern state. It was getting a little chilly
to be riding Harleys too far north. It would draw too much unwanted attention
Jack surmised.

Rebecca Ziegler
was a disc jockey at an alternative rock station in Albuquerque. She was
also was the lead singer in a band called Rephaim. Her husband, Paul Ziegler,
was Chief Executive Officer of a major ISP, internet service provider.
He was also a prominent leader of the Promise Keepers group in the area.
All this information was in the report on the MPI.

Jack decided
to talk to the radio station manager first. Wally Williamson was an old
hippie. Janis Joplin was his all-time favorite.

"Rebecca
is a stone cold fox," Wally explained to Jack. "You know, like
in the lyrics of the late great Jimi Hendrix, a 'Foxy Lady' in every way.
Her husband didn't care much for her rock music career though. Her band
was really into some heavy stuff. You ever hear of the band Fields of
the Nephilim?"

"No,"
Jack replied, "But no doubt you are about to tell me all about them."

"Fields
of the Nephilim were a German alternative rock band very popular 10-15
years ago. Then they broke up. Real wild and crazy material. I just happened
to be in London in 1991 when they did their last gig at the Town and Country
Club. "

"Wally,
what significance do you attach to the name of the band, Nephilim?"

"Nephilim,
fallen angels, what else. I got some of their stuff here, let me play
something." Wally left the room to search through his archives and
came back in a few minutes. "Here's one of my favorites, Watchmen."

"Innocence
is hurting, a world speaks out of tune.
Promise calls, promise falls, what are we to do?
With a clouded view, you follow me through.

Sadly the
tides are changing, my world slips out of you.
Your body falls, my body calls, what are we to do.
With a clouded view, you follow me through.

My life's
turning pages, I see a promised day.
Watchmen never age here, they just sleep in vain.
Drowning people stare here, they don't care to call.
So I rebury the pages, Kthulhu calls ...

You'll see,
you'll see her when she starts to form.
You'll see, you'll see her when she starts to call.

In the name
of Jesus Christ won't you fear my name.
I've been around since Moses, your preacher never came.

You'll see,
you'll see her when she starts to form.
You'll see, you'll see her when she starts to call.
Follow me ...

You sleep,
you sleep, follow me.

It's just
another day, remember I am calling you.
Just another day, remember she's calling for you.
Just another day, Kthulhu I am calling for you.
Just another day, an empire has fallen from view.

You sleep,
you sleep.
Follow me.
You sleep, you sleep.
You cannot follow me"

Willie flipped
off the sound. "Some would call this music part of the Goth genre,
but it was much more than that. Quite biblical in fact. The name, Rephraim,
which Rebecca gave her band is of course related to the Nephilim.
Rebecca's husband hated what she was doing with the band but he worshipped
her. I saw him a week after she disappeared and he sure looked like one
lost soul."

"Wally,"
Jack interrupted, "who was Rebecca seen with in the days before she
vanished? Anybody unusual?"

"You
got that right, Jack. A big dude named Baraqijal. An astrologist or some
such thing so he said. Rode a big bad Harley. I caught them banging away
in the back storage room when she was supposed to be spinning discs."

"Thanks,
Wally. That's enough for now. Maybe I'll talk to the members of the band,
the husband and the police. I dunno. I doubt they could add much of importance.
I might want to talk to you again, though. You seem to be pretty up on
this Nephilim business. By the way, did you ever hear the names Danel,
Ezequeel or Sariel?"

"Nephilim.
Fallen angels. Just like Baraqijal."

Jack got
in his car and drove into the Sandia mountains on I-40 and turned north
on State 14, and took the crest road at San Antonito, drove another 20
miles and pulled off into a picnic area. He just sat in his car with the
top and watched a breathtaking sunset. Over and over he sifted through
the latest developments. He thought, we have several members of some sort
of motorcycle gang who are seducing and causing the disappearance of beautiful
women. Beautiful women who are the loved ones of men involved in religious
endeavors. At the same time, we have a beautiful woman who goes by the
name Lilith, sometime vampire and sometime witch, who is executing men.
Men who seem to have some information she either wants or wants to keep
hidden.

"I need
somebody smarter than me to make sense out of this," Jack said out
loud but only to himself. He was exhausted and decided to check into a
motel. He called Brett who was not in and left a message on his answering
machine. "We need to meet, Brett. Be in Las Vegas by Saturday."
Jack had done some research on Dr. Caitlin Cornplanter, the name Nathaniel
mentioned. She was the one he wanted. "And find me Dr. Caitlin Cornplanter,
late of the Harvard Divinity School, and bring her with you. I don't care
what it takes. Money, whatever. Have Tommy Boy call her personally if
necessary." Brett, of course, would know to whom he referred. His
good friend the governor.

Next Jack
plugged in his notebook computer to check his e-mail. He had a message
from Sam Hanson. There may have been another Lilith murder in Vegas. The
body had not yet been found but the circumstances were very suspicious.
Jack was quite sure from just the minimal information in a message that
she had struck again. Well, he was headed back to Las Vegas in the morning
anyway.

Jack decided
to call Father Murray. "Hey, Father, what is the Catholic doctrine
regarding fallen angels, the Nephilim? No, forget Catholic doctrine, I
don't care what the Pope says, what do you say?'

"Well,
Jack, first this is something that the Catholic bureaucracy would just
as soon ignore. But let me quote from the bible I teach from, THE CATHOLIC
LIVING BIBLE. Genesis 6: 1 & 2, 'Now a population explosion took place
upon the earth. It was at this time that beings from the spirit world
looked upon the beautiful earth women and took any they desired to be
their wives.' And verse 4, 'In those days, and even afterwards, when the
evil beings from the spirit world were sexually involved with human women,
their children became giants, of whom so many legends are told.' I guess
that says it all, doesn't it?"

"Father,
that name Sariel, the man seen with your sister Kathleen before she disappeared.
Someone told me Sariel is the name of one of the Nephilim. Other women
who disappeared under circumstances similar to Kathleen were seen in the
company of men named Danel, Ezequeel and Bariqijal. Also the names of
Nephilim according to my source."

"Of
course!" Father Murray cried. "The Book of Enoch, that's where
those names are."

"Well,
Father, I don't know what it all means, but you think about it and let
me know if you come up with anything that can shed some light on these
mysteries."

Jack spent
all night researching information on the internet. He was drawing blanks
and was looking forward to his friend Brett and this Dr. Cornplanter helping
him make sense of all this. When the sun rose the next morning he got
in his Mercedes and drove toward Las Vegas.